He said he loved me.
Back then, I didn’t know what love felt like—
I thought it was just something people said.
So I smiled, maybe even teased,
And told him 'no'.

Years later, he came back.
Same boy, same love,
And I still couldn’t feel it.
I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t there.
So again, I let him go.

But life has this cruel way of teaching.
One day, out of nowhere,
I felt it.
Everything he once did.
Every unsaid word, every silent hope.
And I told him.
God, I told him.
But he had already moved on.
And I—
I was just a page he’d already turned.

Now, after all this time,
I still feel him.
In the quiet.
In the places I wish he was.
But I know I can’t stay here.
So I’m choosing to let go.
Not because I want to,
But because I have to.

Pain is just a word until you feel it,
For feeble me, to heal it, remained beyond my wit.
Growing agony in eternal silence,
Unleashed a soul-wreaking storm of violence.
Now the inner demons are set free,
Feeding on the emotions buried deep in me.
I squeal,
I plead,
Just begging to let me be.

The weight of melancholy feels so real,
Breaking through it seems surreal.
A turmoil of emotions unleashed havoc,
With every passing moment, despair was evoked.
The idea of glee withered within me,
I feel as though deafening silence surrounds me.
I squeal,
I plead
In desperation to let me be.

I cease to wonder if there exist an end,
These feelings I can scarcely comprehend.
The urge to disappear remains constant,
Yet a part of me longs for a life of content.
I want to believe this is all temporary,
Yet nothing succeeds in lifting my misery.
I squeal,
I plead
In PAIN to let me be.        
                                                                       - PK

He wasn’t always this way—
or maybe I just didn’t see it,
too young to name the weight
pressing against the walls of our home.

Back then, he was just “Baba,”
a voice in the background,
sometimes laughing,
sometimes silent for days.

But as I grew,
so did the silence—
thicker, colder, sharper.

He left for work,
and in those days of distance,
I found peace.
Space to breathe.
Space to become.

Then he'd return—
and so would the tension.
The words unspoken
screamed louder than any argument.

His ego walked ahead of him,
tall, loud, always right.
My thoughts, my voice—
they bent around him,
folding like paper birds
never allowed to fly.

And still, I tried.
Tried to understand.
Tried to not hate.
Tried to be the daughter
he could see without judgment in his eyes.

But love shouldn't feel
like walking on glass.
And respect shouldn’t mean
shrinking into silence.

Now, I live in halves—
half in freedom, when he’s gone,
half in chains, when he’s here.
Not a child anymore,
but still hurting like one.

And yet,
I rise quietly each day,
holding my own hand,
writing poems in the dark—
because if he won’t see me,
I’ll make sure I see myself.